changed into her uniform before he woke up. As she moved, her glance
drifted up. Too late. He was awake.
He was lying on his side, his elbow propped on the bed, his chin
cradled in his palm---and he was watching her with wide awake brown
eyes. "Good morning." He moved his hand off her back and used it to
brush her hair away from her face. His touch was disarmingly gentle.
She blinked. "Good morning. Uh, Harry..."
"You fell asleep." Her confusion and embarrassment were plainly
written across her face. "I didn't want to wake you. I know you
haven't been getting much sleep lately. So I carried you in here."
She bit her lower lip, her green eyes anxious with unspoken questions.
He pulled her lip free with his thumb. "Stop that. When I put you on
the bed, you didn't seem to want to let go of me." He smiled at her
fondly. "So I stayed. Just think of me as a teddy bear. Or a security
blanket. How are you feeling this morning?"
She thought about it. "Better. I feel better. I'm sorry---"
With a flash of impatience, he laid a finger across her lips. "I'm
really getting tired of listening to you asking forgiveness. Stop
apologizing for things that aren't your fault. For example, those
messages?"
Her eyes dropped.
"Malista, it's not your fault that some depraved dimwit is sending you
that stuff. But I wish you'd told me. Or reported it to Security. Or
both. I don't want there to be any secrets between us." He lifted her
chin to meet her eyes. "If you have a problem, I want to know about
it. I want to help you deal with it. And if I can't help you deal with
it, the least I can do is---be supportive. Hold you. Comfort you. I
told you---I love you." He'd thought the words so often, he didn't
realize he'd never actually said them aloud until this moment.
They both flinched as her alarm sounded, stating the time. They had to
be on duty in less than thirty minutes.
"Harry---" Her eyes filled with tears. "Harry, we don't have time for
this discussion right now. Can we talk later?"
He swallowed his disappointment. He'd thought that surely by now she
would trust him enough to tell him what was wrong. "Sure. I'd better
get to my quarters."
They disentangled themselves, both feeling a bit awkward. She walked
him to the door. "Harry? Thank you. For everything."
He flashed her a grin. "You're welcome."
***************************
At the morning staff meeting, the doctor had further test results to
report. "It seems that my first report was---in error." He seemed
reluctant to continue.
"In what way, Doctor?" the captain probed.
"In my original report, I stated that the only problem was a slight
irritation of the optic nerve. In doing further scans, I have also
noted that there is a pattern of stress along the neural pathways
leading from the optic nerve. This pattern is most clearly seen in the
six most affected, but is also present in others who were not affected
at all. Ensign Kim, for example, who has dark eyes and showed no
symptoms, nonetheless shows a minute degree of stress," the doctor
concluded.
"And the cause of this stress?" Chakotay asked.
"The patterns seem to suggest that the probe was, in fact, trying to
communicate. The light was the medium of the message. Unfortunately,
we were not able to understand the message. It seems likely that the
probe searched out the most compatible---" The doctor paused to search
for an inoffensive word. "Conduits? Receivers---for the message. It
was a visual rather than auditory message. The six who were rendered
unconscious were evidently the most compatible receivers for the
message of all those present on the ship."
"Wait a minute, Doc!" Paris interrupted irritably. "Are you trying to
say all those colored spots dancing in front of our eyes are some kind
of writing or code? I didn't get anything from that probe except a
major headache."
The doctor's glare at the pilot expressed his exasperation. "I didn't
say the message was successfully transmitted. I said it was an
attempt. Your brain patterns may not be compatible with that of the
race that is sending the message. You may not be able to comprehend
the message at all."
"Have you come any closer to identifying why those six were chosen?"
Janeway inquired. She'd been pondering that herself.
"Mr. Kim's theory was partially correct. It did have something to do
with eye color. But, as you know, Captain, The Six are not the only
crewmembers aboard with blue or green eyes. Some happened to be
wearing protective lenses in the course of their work. That may have
interfered with the selection process. Another factor seems to be the
purity of the eye color at the time the probe was scanning and the
lack of melanin in the iris. Many people with blue eyes, nevertheless
have spots of brown or other shades of color in the iris," the doctor
explained.
Tom Paris was getting really annoyed with being one of a group that
everyone kept referring to as The Six. It seemed depersonalizing
somehow. "Doc, what are you saying? Someone scrambled my brain while
trying to talk to me by flashing lights in my eyes?"
"A rather non-technical assertion but essentially correct," the doctor
replied.
Tom rolled his eyes, but sank back into his chair massaging his
forehead. "That's nice to know. But it would be more helpful if you
could help me get rid of this---headache."
The captain's concerned eyes examined him. The pilot's irascibility
was out of character. "Doctor? Can you do something for him?"
"He thinks it's psychosomatic," Tom muttered sourly, his frown
deepening as the pain behind his eyes suddenly sharpened and
intensified. He pressed his fingertips to his temples and massaged
them. "I don't really have a headache---I just *think* I do. That's
why I can't sleep either. And have weird dreams when I finally do get
to sleep. It's all in my mind. What there is left of it!"
"Based on further research, I am prepared to revise my diagnosis, if
Mr. Paris will return to Sickbay for examination and treatment," the
doctor stated.
Tom stifled a moan. "Anything. Just get rid of these lousy spots while
you're at it. They're very distracting." He lurched to his feet,
holding his head. He paused for a moment as he waited for the
dizziness to pass.
"Mr. Paris, go to Sickbay. Mr. Kim, would you escort him, please?" the
captain requested.
When the door had slid closed behind the two men, Janeway turned her
attention back to the EMH. "Doctor? You were saying the probe was an
unsuccessful attempt to communicate?"
"Yes. I would suggest that we devise some manner of communicating with
these people before they make a second attempt. Their first try caused
a small degree of damage to the neural pathways. I have been able to
repair it and, in addition, I've developed a palliative to address the
eye problems and the headaches. I have also devised a temporary
measure which may provide some protection for those members of the
crew who are particularly vulnerable to this form of attack. I will
try the device on Mr. Paris. If it seems to be appropriate, I will
issue the devices to each of the at risk crewmembers, beginning with
The Six."
"Thank you, Doctor," Janeway replied. "Is there anything else?"
"In light of the continuing symptoms, I believe the probe may have
merely been preparing The Six for receiving the message. The best
explanation I can come up with is that the probe delivered some sort
of virus through the optic pathways that is trying to rewrite the
neural pathways to enable them to understand the message. They may try
again," the doctor said somberly. "And if they do make another attempt
at the same intensity level, the result may be permanent blindness,
massive brain damage---or death."
****************************
Tom leaned heavily on Harry's shoulder as they walked across the
bridge to the turbolift under the watchful, speculative eyes of the
relief bridge crew. Between the jiggling splotches of color before his
eyes and the pain in his head, Paris was finding it hard to keep his
balance.
He leaned against the wall of the turbolift and closed his eyes, his
hands never ceasing to massage his temples and forehead. "Deck Five."
"Tom, I know this isn't a good time---" Harry began hesitantly.
Paris made an effort and managed to squint one eye open at him.
"What?"
"It's Malista. Someone's been sending her these---messages on her
terminal."
"What kind of messages?"
Harry's face twisted with distaste as he remembered the small portion
he'd read before snapping off the monitor. "Filth. It's the worst
stuff I've ever seen---and it's---it makes me sick to even think about
it. Accusing her of all kinds of things. Sexual things. Talking about
her body, nasty garbage---describing what they want to do to her---"
The bitterness of bile was in his throat, making him want to gag.
"Who---"
"They were sent anonymously. She didn't report it. She's been deleting
them. From something she said, I got the impression she's been getting
them every night. Probably for weeks." Though nothing had been
accomplished yet, Kim felt better for having shared this burden with
his best friend. This was beyond his own experience, but perhaps Paris
could help him deal with it.
"Damn. That must be why she's been losing sleep." Tom put his hand on
Harry's shoulder and squeezed it. "That might explain a few things."
"Has she said anything to you about this? Or given you any explanation
for the amount of stress she seems to be carrying?"
"No. For the same reason she didn't tell you. She wants to handle it."
The turbolift door slid open on Deck Five. As they started down the
hall, Tom continued, "The problem is that she isn't handling it. She's
trying to avoid it, pretending it will go away. That's part of it."
Harry frowned his puzzlement as they entered Sickbay.
"Try not to worry about it, Harry. I'll try talking to her. Sometimes,
it's easier to talk to someone who----"
"Who's got some experience?" Kim said almost harshly as he eased Paris
down on a biobed.
Tom made an effort and captured his friend's gaze with blue-eyed
intensity. "I was going to say, someone who's not as close, but
experience may come into it, too. She knows your background. You're
the one who's had a normal family and a normal childhood. She may not
think you'll understand, but she does love you, Harry."
"She's never said so," Kim said unhappily. "The closest she's come is
the night we made up. Before we went to Sickbay, she said 'I *think*
I'm in love with you.' She never said she IS in love with me. And I
love her, Tom. I never thought I'd really love anyone after I realized
that I'd never see Libby again. But I really love Malista. Why can't
she see that? I even told her I loved her this morning. And she just
looked at me like she was going to cry! I don't know if I'm pushing
too hard or if she just doesn't love me. Maybe she's changed her mind,
but she doesn't know how to tell me. I can't tell what she's
thinking!"
Tom sighed. Yet another problem to deal with. Communication skills
were definitely underutilized on this ship.
"It's hard for her to trust, Harry. If she says it out loud, it means
it's true---and she's afraid *you* don't want to hear it. As for why
she hasn't told you about the problems she's been having--- I'd be
willing to bet she feels like a failure because she hasn't been able
to solve them herself. She's pretty good about beating herself up for
every perceived fault. She wants you to think the best of her. Hell,
she doesn't think she's good enough for you. She all but came out and
said so one evening when we were talking."
"That's crazy," Kim protested. "I've *told* her---"
Paris shook his head slowly from side to side, and immediately
regretted it as the sparkles of light intensified. "Harry, Harry,
Harry. Telling her isn't going to be enough. You've made a good start.
Just by being you and being supportive, you've already helped her a
lot. The Doc says its common for victims of sexual assault to feel
like they're tainted in some way. Marked out as a victim. This
business with obscene messages has probably reinforced that idea in
her mind."
"So what should I do?"
"She needs a lot of practical demonstrations of how you feel about
her. You may tell her she's wonderful a hundred times---but someone
else has already told her a *thousand* times that she doesn't measure
up. Negatives are so much easier to believe than positives. Trust me.
On that subject, I do know what I'm talking about." He sank wearily
and thankfully onto the relative comfort of the biobed as Kes came
over and ran a scanner around his head.
Kim wanted nothing more than to continue the discussion while Tom was
open to talking about personal issues, but he was due back at the
staff meeting and his friend was in pain. "I'm sorry I bothered you
with this right now. I'll talk to you later, Tom. Feel better. And
thanks!" He tried to smile, but failed utterly and trudged out of
Sickbay as Tom lifted a hand in a careless, dismissive wave.
The doctor came over with a dyspeptic expression and yet another
scanner and hypospray.
"Oh, joy! To be in Sickbay when the doctor is in bloom! Or do I mean
with the blooming doctor?" Paris mumbled wearily.
"Tom," Kes protested gently. "Close your eyes and stay still."
"Sure. Why not? Hey, where's everyone else?"
"What do you mean?"
"The rest of The Six," Paris complained. "If I'm having a recurrence
of symptoms, shouldn't they all be here too?"
"No," the EMH replied. "The effect was not uniform. The others may
arrive shortly as their own symptoms intensify. Perhaps I'll call them
in after I finish your tests. It's not surprising that your symptoms
are more severe. Your eyes contain the le
ast amount of melanin of
anyone on the ship."
"Oh, goody," Tom exulted sarcastically. "I've set yet another record.
Be sure to notify Starfleet Command. Send a copy of the report to the
attention of Admiral Owen Paris. He likes to be advised about these
things."
The doctor nodded, missing or ignoring the sarcasm completely. "I'll
be sure to make a note of it in your medical file---which, by the way,
is becoming quite full. If you continue your frequent visits here, I
may have to start a second folder for you, Tom."
The helmsman surrendered to the inevitable and found himself drowsing
off. Sleeping was better than being awake if you were going to be
stuck in Sickbay. At least then you didn't have to hear the play by
play as Dr. Frankenstein and Tinkerbell trifled with your body and
mind as if they were toys. He really *hated* feeling out of control.
He hated it even more when it was his own body that was out of his
control.
*****************************
By the time Harry Kim returned to the staff meeting, the topic of
conversation had moved on to Tuvok's Security report. He slid into his
seat as they were discussing the near confrontation between Maquis and
Starfleet personnel in the holodeck the previous night.
"The doctor came to the brig to treat a fractured bone in Crewman
Gerron's hand and the dislocated jaw of Crewman Castelle," Tuvok
Trials 04 Shadow's Trial Page 30